Tuesday, August 27, 2013

On his debut album, John Renbourn (later of Pentangle) recorded a version of John Donne's "Song" (the first line of which is "Go and catch a falling star"). Renbourn changed the last line to "False, ere I count one, two three.." Courtesy of Bartleby.com.

Friday, August 16, 2013

& today I was led to this poem. (Led how? Alls I can say is, I held my hand out to the goddess of chance and expedience. She embraced it, almost gently -- her nail dug into my palm -- guiding it to waters of luck, random but never coincidental. I'd kind of hinted the poet's name before we began our journey.) Kristine Ong Muslim is a poet of many wonders, "The Pilot." among them. That first image, the six-month tests, the flight plan -- foreboding, all of it.

Tuesday, August 13, 2013

Lee Upton's "The Coast of Apples" flew off my bulletin board today. I'd cut it out from Boston Review and stuck it next to my bird calendar. So here is a poem of hers which first appeared in Agni (2009). I like "get lugubrious with that woman / from the controller's office" and all the rest.Drunk at a Party

He
couldn’t imagine it now,kicking
back, back kicking,wandering
around with a glass,weirdly
morose or—what’s the word?—jolly.
His voice sounding vaguely Swissor
Peruvian or Dutch. Could hepick
up the rhythmof the
lush he once was,get
lugubrious with that womanfrom
the controller’s office?Break
down, regret everything or—the
opposite—boast?
What latch keeps a brainfrom
spinning like a prawndropped
on a stranger’s parquet?Ages
ago in a land far awaylucky
people got three martinis for lunch.Whole
lifetimes hung on a ledgedisgorging
the slipperyfeelers
of sloe gin.Who
would he beif he
passed out again?Or if
love plucked his eyesand
made any throat glisten?This
descendant of men who broketheir
necksin
buckets of hard cider?Why am
I speakingat
this momentas if
I were a man?What
ruse am I guilty of?What
keeps a lobster out of a tank?

Thursday, August 8, 2013

I don't work-work until tomorrow. Work-work is one of my names for real world money earning, for those stretches of time when the coffee is free, the air conditioning is full blast, and every hour at a desk and computer is reimbursed.

Money is good. I wish I had more, but at least my nut gets covered.

I recently saw a listing for a personal financial guide, The Type-Z Guide to Success by Marc Allen. I haven't read it but holy cow, that's me. Type Z. (Assuming that means a slacker who excels at slackerdom.) It's not that I don't have Type A urges, but they manifest mainly when I am trying to get to work on time, i.e., somewhere near the subway. Otherwise, it is a miracle of the Almighty's grace and compassion that anything I write gets accepted for publication, or gets written in the first place. Or that any monies enter my life.

Complexities abound in my infrastructure and you better believe I have examined each of them as if my understanding might earn me a Nobel (pictured) in introspection. Not that I'm trying for one. I just need the money.

A short story of mine was accepted for publication (2014) this week. It's the first story of a novella of sorts. So it occurs to me to pull the rest of the novella together. Like really do it, and not assume each file is "pretty much okay." Everything as-of-yet unpublished bears another look. So I need to prioritize. Last month I drew up a list of my published short stories, and wrote a three-sentence descriptor of each.

Now I need a full list, published and unpublished, with arrows and stars for what needs fixing and finishing. As anyone of any sensibility knows, every task takes longer than planned for unless the planner astutely plans large chunks of time for each task.

Regardless, irregardless, I believe such a list would motivate me, de-cobweb my brain a bit, force my hand to finish stories I've forgotten, improve stories I thought finished, abandon hope where necessary, and feel great satisfaction about what I have accomplished. Onward.